Posted tagged ‘cheering’

“Anyone who’s just driven 90 yards against huge men trying to kill them has earned the right to do Jazz hands. ”

February 1, 2015

That noise you hear is me running down the street screaming. The cause? More snow is coming starting later tonight into tomorrow. Luckily we are only getting 4-6 inches while Boston is expecting 8-12. I have no idea where they will put all that new snow. The street corners already have tall piles too high to see around. It seems Mother Nature is making up for what had been a snow-less winter.

The big game is tonight. All the hoopla will finally come to a head at kick-off. I am and have always been a Pats fan, even through the lean years, the pre-Brady years. It is just being faithful to the home team, an obligation of sorts.

Local Channel 5 is my go to it news station. This time of year especially I have noticed they have a hierarchy of sorts. It seems older announcers become on-site weather people who go to the places being highest hit. They stand outside during the storm’s ferocity getting buffeted by the wind and soaked by the rain or snow, all the while talking about how bad it all is. During the snow storm we just had, one announcer disappeared, blown off-camera by the wind.

My dad loved the Giants but changed his allegiance to the Patriots when the new league was established. He’d sit in his favorite spot, at the end of the couch nearest the TV. He was an ardent fan who yelled, castigated and complained. At Thanksgiving, he ate quickly so as not to miss any of the excitement. Most of the time he was by himself watching a game. My mother hated sports of any kind so she seldom would watch with him. If I were visiting, I’d spent a bit of time sitting and watching, but mostly I’d play Big Boggle in the kitchen with my mother. My dad would chit-chat with us when he made his forays into the kitchen during commercials or half-time. Usually my mother loaded up on special snacks for him so he never went back to the living room empty-handed.

My dad would have been so excited about the Super Bowl and his Patriots, and I’d probably have watched with him. My mother, being a wonderful hostess, would have made appetizers and joined us in the living room for this big game even though she knew nothing about football. One time she was cheering but the other team had the ball. We didn’t bother to explain. It was good of her to cheer.

“Pro football is like nuclear warfare. There are no winners, only survivors.”

February 5, 2012

It’s a sunny but cold winter’s day, typical for this time of year. From my den perch, I can see the brown leaves barely fluttering so the day is a calm one. My sister in Colorado got two feet of snow, and it was 3° last night. Compared to her, I live on a tropical island. The house feels warmer today. I know it’s psychological as the temperature in the house doesn’t fluctuate, but cloudy days make me feel colder.

Super Bowl Sunday has finally arrived. Yesterday I saw more men than I’ve ever seen shopping at the grocery store. Carts were filled with chips and dips and ribs and all sorts of game day food. My cart was no exception. I’m making a Boboli pizza with goat cheese and pine nuts and a cheese dip you bake in the oven. I’ll haul both of them down the street to my friends’ house. They too will have game day treats. After this, I’ll have to start practicing my cheering for the Pats and my booing for the Giants.

I don’t have Patriot’s or Bruin’s gear. I just have Red Sox and Celtics sweatshirts and t-shirts. I don’t know why no Patriot stuff, but I’m not a hockey fan which explains my lack of Bruin’s gear. I went to a hockey college and saw almost every home game, but that was cheering for my team and had little to do with the game itself. I know about icing, offsides and high-sticking but that’s it. I am hockey ignorant. I know baseball best of all.

My nephew played soccer starting when he was five and finishing after four years on a full scholarship at Oregon State. My sister talked hockey every phone call for every one of those years. We couldn’t have a conversation without the latest game news, a description of Ryan’s spectacular plays and a run down on the teams themselves. I feigned interest and made joyful noises at all the right places. I made the trip to New York, to Marist, to see him play. It was my only chance to watch him. He waved when he saw me, and that made the long trip worthwhile. I watched a game about which I knew almost nothing. I knew about using your head or feet, red cards, offsides and penalty kicks and I knew the target was the net. That was it. I was not a soccer fan. I was my nephew’s fan.

Tonight we’ll be screaming and complaining and maybe even swearing; okay, we’ll definitely be swearing. I hope at the end we’ll be on our feet cheering a victory for the home team!

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